Humbled and Bowed Down
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: This story is set after Anthony and Edith are married, but Anthony still has confidence issues. Just a quickie. None of the characters belong to me except for Percy Wilbye.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Humbled and Bowed Down

"_Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight."_

** — Colette**

* * *

It had been six blissful months since Lady Edith had made Sir Anthony Strallan the happiest man on earth by becoming his wife. Their honeymoon had taken them to France, Italy, and Greece, as well as some of the Mediterranean islands. Locksley had become a different place on their return. The staff, content but quiet in serving their master, now fairly hummed with joy in serving a master _and_ a mistress. There were dinner parties and musical evenings, and life was so much more exciting now the new Lady Strallan was arranging things. Anthony felt it too. Truly she had given him back his life. Both the house and he were blossoming. He could feel his sap rising with each new day. He'd begun to drive again since Edith had forced him to get the local blacksmith to make some adjustments to the Rolls, and that gave Anthony so much pleasure and renewed confidence.

Edith seemed more at ease with herself, and with her family. When they came to tea or dinner she made sure that things were as _she_ wanted them, not as she thought her family would expect them. Strangely, this seemed to make her family, and in particular, Violet and Mary, respect her more.

One afternoon, Anthony came back from a drive to be told that Lady Strallan was taking tea with her sister, Lady Sybil, in the Library. Anthony walked over to the door which was ajar, and hearing Edith and Sybil talking, he hesitated.

"So, what's he like, this marvellous man of yours?" Sybil asked.

"Oh, he's wonderful!"

Anthony smiled to himself, taken aback but rather flattered. _Does she really think I'm wonderful? Gosh!_ Guiltily, he continued to listen.

Edith had replied shyly at first, then unable to contain her excitement, she described her wonderful man with more and more vehemence: "He's handsome, tall, with light hair and blue eyes, is brilliantly clever and cultured, worked for the Intelligence Corps during the War, and now lives on private means."

"Just like Anthony, in fact" said Sybil, obviously enjoying herself.

_What does she mean 'just like me'?_ Anthony thought, but he was about to hear the dreadful truth.

"Except that he's only about 30 years of age. And he's sad and lonely and looking for love in a puppy-dog sort of way that melts the hearts of all the women he meets. But he never found true love and real passion until…"

Sybil interrupted "…until he met you!" They both broke down into fits of giggles.

"And he makes love like a lion!"

"God, really? How daring! What's his name?"

Anthony quickly walked away. He didn't want to know the name of this man. He didn't truly believe what he had just heard but the pain was growing red hot in his chest and he had to run away. He was finding breathing difficult. Over and over, he heard in his head the words that had torn down his world and broken his heart.

Of course he had known that she wouldn't remain physically attracted to him for very long; he was too old for that. One day he had expected her to find his aging body less than alluring and begin to look elsewhere for male beauty to admire. But he had hoped the idyll would last for a little longer than this. He walked outside and headed out over the gardens to the fields beyond where he finally allowed the tears to cloud his eyes with sorrow, and the pain to find a release in great heaving cries. She had given him back his life. Now, it felt like his life was over.

After an hour of wandering the fields, Anthony felt that his tears were spent for now, although the pain felt it would never go away. But at least he thought he could safely return to the house without losing control of himself. His first instinct had been to challenge Edith, discover who her…her…(God, he couldn't say the word 'lover' even in his head)…who _her man_ was, now that he felt he could bear it slightly more, and then to confront the blackguard. But he realised that, if she really thought this man was 'wonderful' – her word – Anthony's anger would only serve to force her further into his arms, and make Anthony look totally ridiculous: the older, cuckolded husband.

He stopped himself capitulating to the pain and weeping once again.

No, he had to stop thinking of his own hurt and think about her. She was so young; and he loved her so much. He couldn't bear it if she got hurt by this man. And she was putting herself in a position where he would have total control over her. Anthony had to find out who he was and make sure he understood that if he hurt Edith in any way, Anthony would stop at nothing to make sure his life was made a misery.

He slipped in through the front door silently, or so he thought. She immediately came from the Library.

"Oh there you are! Have you been out for a drive?"

"Yes." Well, this was true, he had half an afternoon, and half a lifetime, earlier been out driving. "Have I missed anything?" he replied as lightly as he could.

"Oh, Sybil came for tea and that was nice."

The rest of the day was spent in an agony for Anthony. Just looking at her was painful. _This is what I have lost_ he thought_ my beautiful wife of only half a year, whom I adore._ When it came to bedtime, he tried to retire to his dressing room, but Edith was not happy about that, so he got no solitude to think or to weep until the next day after breakfast.

"I'm going upstairs to write some letters" she said. "I've neglected my correspondence shamefully since the honeymoon."

He didn't see her around the house until dinner. How many letters did she have to write? And to whom? Or maybe it was only one letter. To _him_.

* * *

This became the pattern of their next few days: breakfast, her claiming to write letters, pay bills, or have other business to complete; he pacing his Library or the fields in an anguished torture; then dinner and bed. They ceased to share jokes or endearments, and physical intimacy was impossible. But she never attempted to leave the house without him. He had given her opportunities, but she didn't take them. He didn't understand why. Surely she would want to meet this man she thought so wonderful? But whenever he went up to her dayroom she was there, writing at her desk, just as she said. She had never been absent, or tried to sneak off.

Finally, he forced himself to sit with the Army Lists for 1914–18 and went through all the officers he'd met in the Intelligence Corps during the War. He identified anyone who he remembered as tall, fair haired, blue-eyed, and well off. If they were about 30 now that would have put them in their mid-twenties when he would have known them. Of all the Corps, there was only one man who fitted the description completely: Percy Wilbye, and that sickened him to his stomach, because Percy and Anthony had been best friends during the War. He had told Percy all about Edith, about the trips to York attending concerts, driving around Yorkshire. He'd waxed lyrical about how beautiful she was, and confessed how hurt he'd been by Mary's words at the Garden Party the day war was declared. He'd confided how he'd joined up hoping to forget about Edith but instead had found himself longing for her ever more. He'd lost touch with Percy after the mission that ended with him in the mud with a bullet in his shoulder. And now, it seemed, Percy had stolen his wife.

At dinner that evening he dropped into the conversation, quite casually he thought, that he would be going down to London on business for a day. In fact he thought he might look up an old friend called Percy Wilbye. Did she want to come with him?

"No thank you. I'm a bit tired, I don't know why. I'd prefer to stay here if you don't mind."

She had shown no reaction at all. No recognition of the name. Nothing. He was more confused than ever.

"As you wish, my dear."

"If I'm not with you, you can get everything done more quickly and get home sooner." She looked at him shyly, expectantly. He hated himself for it, but he ignored her eyes and carried on eating. _Does she know I know? Is she trying to make up for it? Is this a red herring? Am I imagining her affection?_ He looked back at her, and knew he wasn't imagining the plain fact that there were tears on her cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Read on, and trust Edith and Anthony. True love wins out, I promise!

* * *

Chapter 2: Wonderful

The next day Anthony stood outside a handsome town house in Bloomsbury. Wilbye always had immaculate taste, he recalled. The apprehension of what he might discover here made him feel bilious but he had to know.

"Is Mr Wilbye at home?" Anthony asked the butler who had answered the door.

"Yes, Sir. What name shall I give?"

"Sir Anthony Strallan."

A voice from the nearest room exclaimed "Good God!" and Wilbye himself appeared. He was a little older than Anthony remembered, naturally enough, and he gave every indication of being very pleased to see his old friend. He still had that frank and open demeanour, without a trace of any shame or secretiveness. Anthony doubted his suspicions more than ever, but he had to be absolutely sure.

"Hello, Professor!" Percy called heartily.

Anthony had forgotten that that had been his nickname in the Corps, mostly because he was capable of being deeply immersed in devising the most brilliantly simple, polished, and yet devastatingly effective manoeuvres at the same time as forgetting to eat or tie his shoelaces.

"Percy." Anthony didn't quite know how to proceed.

"Heavens, it's been a long time. But I am glad to see you." He turned to his man. "Denton, would you fetch Mrs Wilbye, please?"

"You're married, Percy?"

"Yes, wonderful, isn't it?" Anthony couldn't disguise the mixed emotions flooding through him as he stared at the man leading the way back into the Drawing Room.

"She was a nurse, a Rose of No Man's Land, at one of the field hospitals I visited to try and find you. Then I was wounded myself, she cared for me, and the rest is history!"

Just then a statuesque woman in her late twenties entered.

"Julia, I want you to meet Sir Anthony Strallan; Anthony, my wife Julia." Percy was quite obviously immensely proud of his wife, and deeply in love with her. Anthony was beginning to hate himself just for being here, for suspecting him.

Julia extended her left hand to Anthony, which he thought was very thoughtful and quick-thinking, but then, she'd been a nurse.

"I've heard Percy talk a lot about you. I am very glad to meet you."

The pleasantries seemed to go on for a lifetime. Percy asked about Edith, and Anthony told them that he had married her. They both seemed genuinely pleased.

_Nothing in this bally mess makes any sense_ Anthony thought. But the terror still gripped his guts, twisting his thoughts.

Finally, Percy said something about catching up without boring his wife to death, and she left.

"So what brings you here, Anthony?"

"To be honest, Percy, I was rather hoping you could tell me that." He looked at his old friend with a mixture of pain and accusation.

"Sorry, old chap, I'm not with you."

"Let me make this absolutely plain" stated Anthony, even though he was realising that he was about to make a complete and utter fool of himself. And probably lose a good friend for a second time. "Have you been making love to my wife?"

Percy stared at him.

"Have you gone mad? No seriously, Anthony, has that wound of yours gone septic and addled your wits? What the hell is going on?"

"I overheard my wife talking with her sister about some man who made love to her like a lion who was aged around 30, tall, with blue eyes, independent means, and a history of serving in the Corps! Now tell me, who else does that sound like to you?"

"Er…you Anthony…all except the age part, and let me tell you, you've aged damn well. I wouldn't put you above 37. Are you sure she knows how old you are, really?"

"Don't be bloody ridiculous, man, of course she knows!"

There was an awkward silence.

"Look, if you are having an affair with her, I don't blame either of you. I'm too old for her anyway. I won't…make waves. Just treat her kindly, for God's sake."

Percy came to stand square in front of Anthony.

"Major Strallan, on my honour as an officer and a gentleman, I swear I am not having an affair with your wife. I've never met her, and, by God, I wouldn't do that to Julia. But I can tell you this. Edith's very lucky to have you as her husband, just as I know I was…_am_ very lucky to have you as my friend. And I don't know what has hurt or frightened you so much that your self-esteem got bashed in like this, but for God's sake, man, show her how much you love her! Fight for her and you will win her back, I know!"

"Yes. Thank you Percy." There were tears in his eyes that he was fighting back.

"You poor sod! Now, sit down and tell me, _really tell me_, what's got you going so. You need a friend."

Finally, Anthony believed Percy and began weeping quietly. Percy sat him down and got him a snifter of whisky. They talked for over an hour while Anthony confessed to all his fears and suspicions. They mulled over what he had overheard Edith and Sybil discussing, and agreed that the best thing would be for Anthony to ask her about it. Then at least it would be out in the open. As Anthony was leaving, the last thing Percy said to him was "Oh, and Anthony? When you do find who it is, (if she wasn't just talking about you), don't offer to accept it and not make trouble. Knock his bloody block off!"

* * *

That night he waited until Edith was almost asleep, then he ever so quietly sat up to look at her. She was everything to him. He loved her more than himself, more than the whole world, more than life itself. If he was going to lose her he knew he wouldn't, couldn't stand in her way. He would always love her. _But I __am__ her husband right now_ he suddenly thought. _I want one last night when she lets me love her. I wonder if she still will._ He reached out and stroked her shoulder with the utmost gentleness. She murmured in her doze, but didn't push him away. He risked a soft kiss, and she moaned quietly with pleasure. She was coming to a little as he continued kissing her lovely neck, waiting for her to make excuses and to turn from him. But she didn't. She opened her eyes, smiled the most gorgeous sleepy smile, and put her arms around his shoulders. That was all the encouragement he needed.

With her help he lifted her nightdress from her. Kissing every inch of her, he travelled down her body to her breasts. He kissed them slowly, then teased them with his tongue in the manner he knew she liked, then suckled her deeply, then lightly, then deeply again. She reacted in time to his movements and he recognised that she was losing herself to her desire. The relief and hope that gave him felt so intense. When he stopped to look at her face she took the opportunity to divest him of his nightshirt. _Does she do this with him?_ He banished the thought. _Don't torture yourself, man. Show her how much you love her! Fight for her!_ He held her very close to him and breathed into her hair "You are my only love, my darling, my everything. Truly, you are everything to me". Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her more passionately than he had ever dared to before. For long minutes their mouths inflamed each other's desires.

Then unable to prolong this delicious foreplay any longer, Anthony pressed himself closer to her. When he first buried himself in her, she let out another delightful moan that set fire to his soul. But instead of the usual rhythmic thrusting she was used to, she found that he was holding himself just outside her for lingering moments between strokes. It was amazingly erotic and caused sensations in her that she didn't know were possible as her ardour grew more slowly but more intensely than ever before. She writhed under him in the most arousing manner, and tried to hold onto him with her pelvic muscles which drove him mad with an overwhelming desire, but he didn't change the pace. Time seemed to still, passion building in each of them, but Anthony kept control of it until he knew the end was near for them both. With a sprint at the end, he drove them both mercilessly to _la petite mort_ which they reached together. Never had either of them experienced a more incredible or satisfying release. He wanted to stay there forever, and, amazingly, she seemed in no hurry to banish him from her body. Eventually she whispered, her voice joyous but husky "Oh Anthony! Please forgive me. I thought you'd tired of me. You've been so distant recently. But that…that was beyond all my dreams."

"I've been distant?" he said. It wasn't really a question. "Why do you think that might be?"

She was silent for a moment. "I've been too scared to ask. But when I face it, I suppose you must have felt that you made a mistake in marrying me. I wouldn't blame you."

Not willing to believe that she might have some of the same issues he had, he thought

_She's avoiding it_. "But that was alright, was it?" he asked aloud.

"It was…you were…magnificent!"

"As good as your younger lovers?" There, he'd said it, rather accusingly he realised with shame.

"What are you talking about, my love, I don't have any lovers, let alone younger ones."

"I'm not stupid, Edith. It hurts so much to be lied to."

"I swear I'm not lying."

"You told Sybil about him when she came to tea."

"Him?"

"_Yes_" he spat the words "_Him_". There was another quick silence broken by Anthony's strangled declaration "Edith, I have always known that I wouldn't be able to retain your affection forever. I have tried to prepare myself for this day, but now it has arrived, all too quickly for me, I find I am woefully out of my depth." His pain was all too apparent. "All I ask is that you make it quick. Please don't let me see…you with him. I will make sure you have money and privacy." He rolled away from her so she should not see his tears. But she was frantic and put her hands on his back trying to coax him back to look at her.

"Anthony, darling, _listen to me, please_?! What I am about to say is God's own truth. The man Sybil and I were discussing is…is fictional. All these letters I've been writing? You know, don't you, that I haven't been writing any letters: I've been writing a novel. There, I've confessed."

"A novel?"

"Yes, a novel. Not the sort of thing a gentleman really wants his wife to be doing, is it? I've let you down, I know. I'm sorry. I know you like a good novel, but you don't really want to read one written by your wife, do you? And you don't want to hear your friends discussing a work written by your wife."

"A novel. And the man?"

"He's the hero of the novel. He's based on you, of course, because I couldn't think of a lovelier, more wonderful man to model my hero on."

"On me? But his age…?"

"Pandering to a publisher's prejudice, I'm afraid. They wanted someone a little younger than you."

He couldn't believe it. Yes, all of a sudden, everything came back into focus and made sense.

Anthony knelt on the bed in front of her.

"My sweet, lovely darling, can you forgive a silly old fool so deeply in love and so riddled by self-doubt that if you gave him both ends of the same stick at once he'd still get hold of the wrong one?"

"Only if you promise never again to doubt that I love you more than all the other men in the whole world."

"I will do my very best, but it may take practice, and reassurance. And of course I would love to read your novel."

"You don't mind that I'm writing one?"

"Of course not, my dearest love. I think it's…just wonderful."

"I have half a mind to make you wait until I've finished it, just to punish you."

"My darling, I will accept any and all punishments you wish too inflict upon me as penance for my foolishness."

She said "Well then, Sir Anthony Strallan, I sentence you to make mad, passionate love to me exactly as you did just now every night for a fortnight, whether you wish to or not."

And pulling his wonderful wife close to him for more kisses, he whispered "That is no punishment at all."


End file.
